


My Pamangkin is a Menace

by fw_feathers (callmeren)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Disabled Character, Disabled Character of Color, F/M, Female Character of Color, Filipino Character, Flirting, Fluff, POV Character of Color, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Reader-Insert, Romantic Fluff, mild PTSD, reader is Filipino, reader is poc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:28:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23943940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmeren/pseuds/fw_feathers
Summary: During a charity hospital visit, Bucky meets a little girl with a cheery smile and a plastic arm painted to look like his. He agrees to go to her operation in a few months, all for a child that thinks he hung the moon and stars. If her aunt is also a gorgeous, firecracker of a dame, well...
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 10
Kudos: 92





	My Pamangkin is a Menace

**Author's Note:**

> For Mandy. Suffer well <3
> 
> read on tumblr [here](https://fleeting-white-feathers.tumblr.com/post/616902663067566080/my-pamangkin-is-a-menace) (with graphics)

Bucky hovers by the door to the children’s ward and tries to gather the nerve to go inside. Sam has already gone in, greeting the enthusiastic crowd with just as much excitement. Parents hover by the doors and hallways, while kids take turns trying to catch his attention.

It shouldn’t be this nerve-wracking to be around children. Bucky can face down international terrorists, a gigantic rhino, even motherfucking _aliens._ But even after all this time, the thought of being face to face with a human half his size is daunting.

He has memories of sitting on a fire escape, cradling a small child, just as he has memories of charming dames to dance. He’s been able to use the latter to great effect on missions—and slowly, off them. All it took was time, adjustment, and practice.

Maybe his skill with handling children is the same.

For now, he makes do with yanking his left hand out of the way, before a child brains herself on it in her haste. She screeches to a stop at his feet, just shy of ramming into his legs. She hops up and down, beaming.

“It’s you! It’s really you!” Raven hair falls to her shoulders in waves, framing round tawny cheeks and a gap-toothed smile. Her brown eyes shine with elation. “My soulmate!”

“Soulmate?” Bucky repeats, equal parts amused and charmed. She can’t be older than seven.

“Yeah!” She waves her hand to show him.

Bucky crouches down to her level, his smile fading. He cradles the plastic arm with awe. Its black paint shines under the fluorescent light, highlighted by lines in glittery gold. He traces them with his metal hand. They’re pretty accurate, considering whoever did it would only have pieces from pictures to look at.

Even her blue jacket had been customized. The right sleeve is shorter and folded back to expose her prosthetic, while keeping the upper half of her bicep covered. Unlike Bucky, she must still have some of her arm left.

The little girl gasps. She bends the fingers of her prosthetic, before taking his metal hand and pinning it between both of hers.

"See?" she says, with the utter solemnity of children her age. “Soulmates.”

Bucky might as well have been anchored to the spot. Only hell and high water will make him break her hold.

“I see what you mean,” he says, a smile blooming on his face. He tucks her hair behind her ear, marveling. Was the length—similar to his old hair—intentional, or a serendipitous accident? “What’s your name, pretty girl?”

She giggles. “I’m Clara!”

“Hi Clara.” He shakes her hand. “I’m Bucky.”

“I know!” Her giggles grow. “Tita watches you all the time!”

“‘Tita’?” He tries to mimic the way she says it. She nods.

“My tita. She takes care of me on weekends. Lolo and Lola take care of me on weekdays.” She starts swinging their arms. Bucky follows her tugs, his metal hand humming with every movement. Her eyes widen. “Ooh! Mine doesn’t do that!”

He lets her examine the metal prosthetic, making sure she doesn’t get pinched by the tiny gaps between the plating. Her unadulterated joy at something that only ever caused him pain is soothing. For a while, the arm doesn’t feel so heavy.

“Is mine gonna be like this too?” Clara asks.

“What do you mean, sweetheart?”

“Clara!”

Clara lights up. Bucky rises to his feet, as she bolts for the woman slipping out the ward’s doors. It’s the first glimpse he gets of you—your beautiful, harried expression melting away into glowing relief.

“Tita! Tita! Look who I found!”

“Oh thank god.” You press a hand to your chest, eyes only for your errant child. Bucky has a moment to inappropriately admire how your black dress sweeps over your hips. “Jesus, don’t scare me like that. What did I tell you about running off?”

“But I found him!” Clara flails. “I found our soulmate!”

“What?” Only then do you notice him, still standing in the middle of the hallway like a numbskull. You gape, full, red-painted lips opening and closing. Bucky resists the urge to put his hands in his pockets and stand up straight like a schoolboy.

“Hey there.” He settles for a casual slouch. _It’s just a pretty dame, Barnes. No need to get ahead of yourself._ “You must be Clara’s mom.”

“Aunt,” you correct him, with a tone that speaks of something automatic. “She’s my sister’s. I’m just the glamorous, single tita who visits on weekends.” Then your mouth clamps shut. Two spots of color bloom on your cheeks.

Slowly, Bucky’s eyebrows rise.

You certainly look the part. Your clothes aren’t of expensive make, but every piece looks well-selected to fit your flowing shape. Your jewelry is large but tasteful, drawing the gaze to your neck and lips.

He doesn’t miss the way you glance over his uniform either.

“C’mon, you gotta say hi!” Clara leans back, dragging you towards him. It also serves to drag you from the thoughts dancing in your eyes.

“I _am_ saying hi, you little brat,” you say fondly. “I hope she didn’t tackle you or anything,” you add, turning back to him. “I’m teaching her to mind other people’s space, but she’s a really big fan of yours.”

“She’s been very good, actually. Stopped herself, just in time.” Bucky winks at Clara, who beams. You bite your lip, glancing between him and your niece.

Not to be outdone, Clara pipes up. “Tita’s a big fan too! She says she likes your black and white photos better, coz they don’t show off your pretty blue ey—”

You snatch her off the ground with a grunt. “ _Okay_ , that’s enough! What did I tell you about repeating the things Tita says?” You laugh nervously.

“Don’t say bad words,” Clara recites, her brow furrowed in confusion. You lean back and mock frown at her.

“Pretty and blue are now bad words. I’m your tita and my word is law.”

“But I didn’t even say _assphhblt_.”

You press your fingers against her lips, but the damage is done. Bucky has to fight the growing smirk on his face. You bury your face in your niece’s neck. “Honey. Sweetheart. Angel. Anak. Just… stop.”

Clara’s cherubic grin isn’t so cherubic anymore. What slips between your fingers might even be called a cackle.

A blond head sticks out of the hospital ward. Bucky recognizes him as their PR manager, Tyler. “Excuse me, Miss—” He consults his tablet. “Dimaranan?”

“That would be her.” You swing Clara around, then let her down. She peers up at Tyler, then grabs onto your free hand. Her prosthetic inches behind her back.

On instinct, Bucky steps forward, stopping at Clara’s other side. Her shyness disappears with a sunny smile. She raises her hand; Bucky takes it, gently wrapping black metal around painted black.

Tyler blinks at the scene, then grins. “That’s perfect, actually! Don’t move.” He ducks back into the ward, calling to the cameramen.

“Uhh, what?” You glance to the side, only to stare at Clara swinging Bucky’s hand in hers.

Bucky tries to gauge your reaction. Less than a decade ago, he had been a wanted man across a hundred and seventy-seven countries. Though Steve had cleared his name in the time he’d been gone, there are still people who can’t forget.

“Is this okay?” he whispers.

“If you stop, I will punch you in your pretty face.”

His eyebrows jump. You slap a hand over your mouth, eyes wide with horror. Laughter bursts out of Bucky’s mouth, surprising both of you. You share a grin—yours, sheepish; Bucky’s, amused.

“What’s so funny?” Clara demands. Bucky shakes his head and looks down, turning his focus back on Clara.

Tyler takes a shot of the three of you like that—hand in hand, with Clara bouncing between you and Bucky. Then there’s shots of Bucky kneeling, comparing arms with Clara, and Bucky mock-snarling at the camera, while Clara gives her best Winter Soldier roar.

Sam even manages to find the time to throw a parting shot: “Looking good, Soldier!”

Bucky glares at him. Sam just grins, and points at Clara. “Wasn’t talking to you, Tinman.”

Clara is _delighted_.

Only when Clara is posing with Sam does Bucky find out the reason for all the pictures. “She won the lottery?”

“Might as well have. The Maria Stark Foundation’s special sponsorship program accepts only five kids a year.” You start counting on your fingers. “Free advanced prosthetic prototypes from StarkTech, free replacements until they’re of legal age, and free maintenance costs after that.” You throw up your hands, trying to encompass the enormity of that gift. Through the ward windows, Clara peeks from behind the star-spangled shield.

“And that’s big.”

“Very big.” You point at Clara’s arm. “That thing costs upwards of three thousand dollars, and she’s not even done growing. The doctor said we’re looking at at _least_ six replacements before she turns eighteen.” The weight of your worry drags at the edges of your smile, creasing lines on your forehead that shouldn’t be there yet.

“Even with insurance, I don’t think my salary can handle that. And I was hoping to save her inheritance for her college degree.” You sigh. “We got lucky.”

Bucky frowns, a word catching his interest. “Can I ask…” You turn to him, gesturing for him to continue. “Where are her parents?”

Your smile dies. “Car accident. Truck driver got dusted.” Bucky flinches. You hesitate, then pat him on his elbow. There’s nothing but kindness and understanding in your eyes. “Clara lost her parents and her arm that day. I’m just grateful she made it out okay.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Bucky knows how useless condolences can be. Hazy memories of men lost at war, countered by empty words people offer for Steve Rogers’ “death.” Still, it melts the shadows on your face.

“Thanks.” You chew your lip, thinking. Bucky spares a moment to admire the way the light brings out the color of your eyes.

He raises his eyebrow, a silent prompt.

“Okay, I know this is a long shot, and that I’m asking a lot, but at least I can say I tried.” You hold up your hands, forestalling his questions. “Is there any way you could be there for Clara’s operation? I know I joked about it, but you really are her hero. It would mean a lot to her if you were there.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Wha—really?”

Bucky grins at catching you so flat-footed. “Barring any world-threatening events, sure.”

His amusement aside, he means it. What’s the point of taking up arms again and again if he can’t even make a child’s day? It’s better than lazing around during his downtime, that’s for sure.

A wide smile stretches across your face, brighter than anything he’s seen from you yet. It delivers your appreciation better than any words could. “Saving the world doesn’t have fixed work hours, huh.”

Bucky _has_ to roll his eyes at that. “Oh, does it ever. If bad guys followed work hours, I might actually be able to get some sleep.”

You burst out laughing. He admires the line of your neck, the way your lips part around the sound. Slowly, your laughter trails away under his heavy gaze.

“If you keep smiling like that, I might actually punch you in the face.”

“Why?” He rubs his chin, tracing his fingers along his stubbled jawline. His smile only grows wider. “Is there something in my teeth?”

Your eyes dart to his lips. You swallow, then yank your gaze away. “I don’t know, check it yourself.”

“Maybe later. I’m busy checking something else.”

You do a double-take. Bucky cocks his eyebrow playfully. You sputter.

“I. Um. Okay, you know what? I’m just going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” You turn back towards the window, refusing to meet his eye. Joke’s on you, it lets him admire your reddened cheeks from the side.

“Doc, patulong,” you mutter under your breath, unaware he can hear you just fine. “Kailangan ko ng defibrillator.”

Bucky grins. It’s not one of the languages he knows—but he gets the gist.

He likes you. Likes your saucy, spitfire approach, your strong devotion to your niece, the hints of courage and compassion in your actions. He likes seeing your bravado crumble, revealing the flustered woman underneath. And what a woman.

Steve had his chance and took it, leaving everyone else behind. Damn if Bucky won’t take his.

The program starts winding down. Some of the children have wandered back to their parents, happy and tired. Clara catches a glimpse of him and waves with vigor, almost bonking her new playmate on the head. Bucky waves back. She beams.

He waits for your shoulders to relax. When some of the color has faded from your face, he says:

“So, you like my ass better in black and white too, or…?”

The sound that comes out of your mouth is a cross between a rubber squeak and a cat’s yowl. Bucky’s too busy laughing to listen to your protest.

“That wasn’t me! That was my friend. Who is a terrible, terrible person. That I am going to murder as soon as I get home.”

“Guess I’ll have to stop you, considering it’s my job and all.” He jerks his head towards the end of the hallway. “How about some coffee? We could get Clara some cookies in the café across the street.”

Your jaw drops. Your eyes narrow. He shifts under your scrutiny, suddenly feeling shy. What if he’s read everything wrong, and you’re not actually interested?

“Fine,” you say. “But only because you’re cute.”

This time, it’s his turn to redden. It does nothing to wipe the silly grin off his face.

* * *

Clara is over the moon about spending more time with her favorite person (“Oh, is _that_ how it is?” you say), even if said favorite has to change into a spare hoodie and jacket before leaving. Sam will not stop bouncing his eyebrows at him, all the way out of the dressing room.

“Guess I won’t be seeing you tonight, huh?” he says, just as they round the corner to where you’ve been waiting. You cover your face. Bucky hears several curse words he doesn’t recognize.

He elbows Sam. “Asshole,” he says, too low to reach Clara’s innocent ears.

Clara bounds up, already brightening under Sam’s welcoming whoop. “Oh! Oh! Does that mean you’re coming home with us, Bucky?” She pouts, puppy dog eyes wide in the most unsubtle plea Bucky has seen.

You make a noise. It sounds a little bit like “argh.” Bucky’s blush returns full force. The worst part might be Sam and Clara’s matching grins.

A good start to what ends up as a great date, all things considered. Clara fills whatever awkward silences that could pop up between two strangers getting to know each other for the first time. Bucky doesn’t stop teasing you. You finding moments to slip under his defenses and fluster him in turn. It evens out.

He learns about your job at an advertising firm; your parents; your friends both here and in the country you still see as home. He trades messages with you on the nights that he can’t sleep, sharing stories about skin-meltingly warm beaches and pristine mountain snow. You send him frowny faces whenever he ends up on the news. Some days it means he looks too good on camera. Other days it’s because he got shot in the gut.

Nearly five months pass until Clara’s operation, long enough that Sam’s jokes change from ‘that girl’ to ‘his girl.’ It unbalances the easy peace Bucky enjoys.

He had gone into this for the simple joy of human interaction. More than the flirting, and the dates, he loves spending time with you and Clara. It’s fun, and quiet, in a way that contrasts heavily with the adrenaline rush of dodging gunfire. 

What he feels for you isn’t a spark, but a low, simmering flame. He thinks of you every day. You always bring a smile to his face, whether it’s a light, sunny morning, or a dark, shaky night. Every mock-angry message sends his heart skittering around his chest.

If you wanted— _if—_ he could see himself basking in this, for a long, long time.

But there are other things to consider. His job is full of risks; the unreliable hours have already interrupted two of your dates. Going steady wouldn’t put the spotlight on just you, but on Clara as well. Is he really ready to make things serious?

Are you?

He picks you and Clara up from your parents’ house. Maybe it’s been on your mind too, because you rush him and Clara to the car, telling her she can teach him how to “mano to lolo and lola” some other time. Your mother, robbed of the chance to meet him, waves from the door. Bucky catches a glimpse of her smirk through the rearview mirror.

Clara keeps up a steady stream of chatter throughout the drive. You contribute little, pale-faced and determinedly staring down the dashboard. He’d think you’re more nervous than Clara is, if not for the jittery way Clara bounces in her seat.

He takes a chance and unwraps your hand from the seatbelt. Your gaze snaps to him. You bite your lip, then smile. Your fingers intertwine with his.

The doctors usher the three of you in with brisk, businesslike instructions. That doesn’t mean they’re unkind. They explain the operation to you one more time—how the mechanical socket is built to expand as Clara grows, while the arm itself can match her growth for up to four years. The technology is a much, much simpler version of Bucky’s arm, a design created in partnership between Stark Medical and Wakanda’s outreach foundation.

It makes Bucky queasy to look at the diagrams, so he focuses on Clara, who watches the screen with wide, solemn eyes.

You squeeze his hand. This time, it’s you anchoring him, not the other way around.

They give the three of you a moment to yourselves, in the hallway outside the operating room. Clara, already in the hospital gown, has yet to stop talking.

“Tito Buckyyy,” she whines, tugging on his metal hand. Her prosthetic sticks out of your bag, patchy glitter still shimmering in the light. “Listen to me!”

He kneels down to her level, flashing you a raised eyebrow. “Tito Bucky?”

“She’s my Tita, so you’re my Tito now,” Clara informs him.

“It means ‘uncle,’” you explain, hugging yourself. You’re a better color than before, though your lip is swollen from how much you’ve been biting it. “Though it can apply to older family friends.”

“No!” Clara says. “It’s coz Tita loves you very, very much _._ ” She rolls her eyes at the stupefied expressions on your faces.

“I never said that!” you squeak.

“That’s why you gotta take care of her,” she continues, prodding Bucky in his suddenly-frozen chest. “Stop making her so nervous all the time. She says it’s bad for her heart. She already worries too much about me.” Her voice shakes, yanking him out of his daze.

You swoop in, grabbing her around the waist and settling her on the gurney. “Oh my god, Clara, you are a _menace._ Don’t make me tell Lola.” You snap and grumble, but there’s only gentleness in the way you tug on her hospital gown and smooth the hair out of her face.

Bucky pushes back the jumble of nerves and elation buzzing in his chest. He takes Clara by the hand again. Her fingers tremble on his skin.

“Hey pretty girl.” He caresses her cheek. “It’s okay to be scared, alright? You’re being very brave. You don’t have to hide.”

Clara’s face crumples. She holds on tight, her eyes watery. Still, not a single tear falls.

So much like her aunt.

She tugs on his hand. Her voice tiny, she asks, “Did it hurt? When you got yours?”

You gasp.

Bucky’s breath catches in his throat. The memories hover in the back of his mind, an ever-present ghost.

He pushes them back.

He crouches down, meeting Clara’s doe-brown eyes.

“It did,” he admits. “But you’ve got good doctors here. Not like the ones who gave me mine. They’ll take good care of you.”

“You sure?” Clara asks.

“I would never let a bad guy hurt you, Clara.”

And he means it. What he had to go through is more than enough for one person to bear. He would do it all again, if it means Clara with her bright smile and mischievous laugh would never have to.

Her lip wobbles, then holds. “Okay.” She straightens. “I got this. I can do it.”

“Brave girl.” He glances towards you. Your hand is pressed over your lips, tears threatening to spill. You shake your head, unable to speak.

“Tita, I’ll be okay,” Clara says. A doctor pokes his head out of the operating room, forestalling any deeper discussion.

“I know, I know.” Your voice cracks. “Don’t mind me, Tita’s just emotional.” You flap your hand at her. “You be good, okay? Don’t worry, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Bucky steps aside, letting the doctor ease Clara into lying down. “We will,” he corrects you.

Your shoulders hitch with a soft sob.

“Take care of my Tita, Bucky!” Clara waves one last time before the operating doors swing shut behind her.

“She’s a bright girl,” the doctor says, reassuring you. “She’ll be fine.”

“Thanks, doc.” Bucky smiles at him, before ushering you away. He finds an empty examination room and leads you inside, shutting the door behind him. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. She’ll be fine. You heard the doctor.”

“I _know._ ” You pull out a handkerchief, pressing it over your face. “I’m not crying because of Clara, idiot.”

His heart flutters. “Oh.”

“It’s just—what happened to you was so _awful._ I can’t even imagine—but then you’re still so good, and kind, saving the world and cheering up _my niece_ —” Words fail you. You throw up your hands in frustration. “Like, what the fuck is that?”

He steps closer. His feet are light, lighter than air, lighter than anything he’s felt in the hundred years he’s been alive.

You wipe your eyes with an ugly sniffle. “If your life had a face, I would punch it.”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Always so violent…”

Slowly, carefully, he snakes his arms around your waist. You flop against his chest, your hands pinned between your face and his shoulder.

He’s used to pity, horror, or discomfort when it comes to his past. Your empathy and compassion are a fire that melts the last of his anxieties away.

“I’m working on it,” he admits. “Stuff like this… Kids like Clara… it helps.”

You pull back. “Good!”

He tucks your hair behind your ear, then gently flicks your chin with a finger. “Dates with a gorgeous, caring dame help too.”

He watches, fascinated, as red spreads across your cheeks. “Well,” you say, still clinging desperately to your bravado. “Lucky there’s plenty of those to go around.”

“Nah.” He doesn’t let you dodge the issue. “Only you, doll.”

This is the choice he makes. Not for you, not for Steve, not for anybody else.

For him. Because he wants this. He wants what he has with you, for as long as you’ll let him.

Your lips part. No protest comes out, ripped away by his sincerity. Defenses picked apart, words buried in the haze. Only one thing left to do.

He leans forward, and steals your breath with a kiss. He whispers against your lips.

“Will you be my girl?”

* * *

You say yes.

Clara, of course, is smug as can be. After the anesthesia wears off.

**Author's Note:**

> Pamangkin (n.) - niece, nephew  
> « “Doc, send help. I need a defibrillator.” »  
> [tumblr](https://fleeting-white-feathers.tumblr.com)  
> 
> 
> Want to review but not sure what to say? [Click here!](https://fleeting-white-feathers.tumblr.com/fyi)
> 
> If you can, donate to your local charity for child amputees, like [this one](https://jordanthomasfoundation.org/) for the USA. Prosthetics for children cost _a lot._
> 
> If you liked this fic, subscribe to my profile or follow me on Tumblr because boy oh boy do I have a big bucky x reader series in store! Thanks for reading ❤️


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